


Shadow Of Memory And Doubt

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2002-07-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:03:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So far the Noldor have kept their terrible secret from the Sindar, but can Galadriel manage to hide it from her beloved Celeborn?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Galadriel forced her mind to stay blank and tried to unclench her fists as she stood, taking her leave. Holding her head high, she turned and took a deep breath. Focusing her gaze on some distant point, she could nonetheless feel Melian's eyes follow her out the door. In a stiff hurry, she made her way quickly down the stone halls and winding staircases of Menegroth back to her own chamber. 

Once inside, she flung the door closed behind her and plunked herself, rather ungraciously, onto her bed. She tried to calm herself and shake free of the guilt-ridden grief that had been brought to the surface by Melian's interrogation ( _How dare she?)_ , the tragedy that she so desperately wanted to hide _(She has a right to know… They all do)_. The memory of the blasphemous deeds of the Noldor and subsequent Doom of Mandos would haunt all the High-Elven for eternity. 

_The blade flashed twice: up, and then down again, except… Except the downward stroke met resistance, not enough to halt the blade, but enough to requisite more force._

Galadriel swallowed and looked down at her hands, her knuckles as white as the sheets bunched up in her grip. 

_Rivulets of luminous red blood snaked randomly across the flat rock, down to the shore where the sand turned black and the white foam tried in vain to wash it all away._

She took a deep breath, clamping down on the memory before it escaped her control. Then, she looked at her comfortably furnished room, so far, so different in both space and time. Cold reason washed over her, the same reason that had led to the conclusion that all the Noldor adhered to. An escapable Doom, perhaps, but there was no need to alarm the Sindar of Beleriand. 

_But is it right to live silently, ignoring the unspeakable, while the kin of those they -we- slew remained ignorant? Is this as bad as an outright lie?_

The Noldor princess rose abruptly to pace her chamber, but the movement did little to ease the tense muscles in her legs and back. She stopped to stare hatefully at the stone walls, bereft of windows, separating her from the air and light of the woods beyond. Galadriel closed her eyes and let her mind seek the vision that her ocular senses could not perceive. 

Arien, the Sun, was a few hours from the western horizon, not that it could be seen through the dense forests of Doriath. In fact, in every direction were the great trees of Beleriand standing tall and still in green light. The wood seemed very inviting compared to the closeness of the carven stone of Galadriel's current residence. 

Moving to her wardrobe, she slipped out of the intricately detailed silk gown she wore and donned the more practical clothes she often wore when hunting: comfortable midcalf-length breeches that she could sprint in, and a light, close-fitting tunic. The mirror was now unnecessary; centuries had made an automatic practice of winding and twisting of her golden hair around her head. Finally she strapped two slim daggers to her legs. The transformation was not wholly remarkable from a moment before, for Galadriel always wore a noble, commanding air and a clear light shone in her eyes. 

Galadriel peered out into the hall. Seeing no one, but not being one to timidly sneak about, she strode quietly through a good number of the Thousand Caves. Along the way, she occasionally passed Grey-elves, Thingol's people. They nodded their heads or bowed in deference to her according to their rank as she passed. She had little mind to stop to talk, but reciprocated their nods politely with a thin smile. Fortunately, no one hindered her journey out of Menegroth until she came to the font gates. There, upon the watch, were a few elves with Mablung, the Captain of Thingol's guard. At her approach, he hailed her. 

"Greetings, Lady," he called. He noticed she stopped only when she reached him (for he stood between her and the gate), and added, "Where would you wish to go?" 

Galadriel looked out at the towering trees, then up at the sky above for a moment before looking back down at him. Indeed, Mablung was shorter than she who was tallest of Noldor women. "I do not have a clear destination, Sir, but I wish to take a run in the wood for a while." 

Mablung, as if noticing her attire for the first time, nodded, but he said, "Would you go alone, Lady?" 

"I would," Galadriel replied curtly, wishing nothing more than to bolt through the gates as soon as they opened. 

But Mablung persisted. "Surely you would feel safer if I had my guards escort you where you will?" There was no response, so he ventured to continue, "It is my duty to honor and safeguard the guests of my King and Queen, especially one as esteemed as yourself, Lady Galadriel." 

"Your sentiments are appreciated, Mablung," she said with an exasperated sigh. "But as I am a guest, my departure should not be hindered except at the behest of my host. And I bid you do me honor by opening this gate!" 

Mablung had no words then and bowed to her in compliance, motioning for his guards to do as she had commanded. 

_Finally._

As soon as the gates widened enough for her lithe frame to pass through, Galadriel sprinted off into the trees like an arrow loosed from a bow. The guards blinked once to see her wave in farewell; then she was gone. 

She ran on and on into the woods, glad to be free of the enclosing walls and Melian's overwhelming presence. Even in the woods of Doriath, she could feel the Maiar's power so long as she remained within the Girdle of Melian. Galadriel did not know where she was running, nor did it really matter. All that mattered was the constant rhythm of her heartbeat, her breathing –loud in her own ears-, the pumping of her arms and legs, the fleeting feeling of grass under her bare feet. 

 

* * *

 

Celeborn gave a shrill whistle as he came up to the horse pasture. Immediately a large sorrel mare lifted her head from grazing with the other horses and gave a responding neigh. She then broke from the grazing herd, a few of the others lifting their heads in interest as she trotted up to the elf. 

Celeborn strapped his quiver and bow on his back, checked his dagger and nimbly leapt onto his horse's back with the support of one hand. In his other hand, he still held his sword and scabbard. This he strapped to his belt as he directed the mare to the front gates with his legs. 

Mablung was there, waiting for him with his own steed. As soon as he was within earshot, Celeborn said, "You need not follow, Captain." The other elf began to protest, but stopped as Celeborn just shook his head. 

After meeting her, Celeborn had realized quite quickly that, when determined, Galadriel would not allow anyone or anything sway her. He also loved her more than enough to respect her wish for privacy. And though he had only a notion of understanding why she had run off, the day had waned far enough for him to worry about her not arriving for supper. 

"She ran out from the gate like a deer under chase, heading south," Mablung was saying. "Likely she is in Region by now, but she will not go unnoticed by Beleg's array. Whither will you look, my Lord?" 

Celeborn looked up at the sky beyond the treetops, much the same way as Galadriel had in the afternoon. Already, from his viewpoint, the sky was a deep color of night. Then he smiled and said, "I know not, yet I will find her." Urging his horse forward past Mablung on his mount, he continued over his shoulder, "You have my word that I will not go too far. If we do not return by this time 'morrow evening, then you may send out a search, but not before then." 

Mablung was puzzled. "Shall I tell Queen Melian?" 

"No! And if you have any doubts, I will make that a command that you must follow." 

By then the sorrel horse was jogging away into the trees. For a while Mablung stared in the direction Celeborn had gone, wondering whether or not to follow the given order. 

 

* * *

 

Galadriel walked calmly through the night-shrouded woods, her hands clasped behind her head. After her initial spurt of adrenaline had run out, she had continued her journey at a jog until the sun had passed well beyond the edge of the sea. It was probably sinking beyond Valinor by now…. Presently, she walked, only to delay her return to Menegroth further. 

Perhaps instinctively, she came upon a clearing large enough to disclose a patch of sky among the tall trees. At the centre, she lay down in the long grass to gaze up at the stars. They comforted her and she absently began to sing the songs she had learned long ago in the land of the Valar. She remained that way for an immeasurable length of time. " _Gilthoniel, A Elbereth…_ " she sighed finally, letting her mind leave her body to rest. 

 

 

Celeborn sighed as he dismounted. Apparently his steed had not forgotten her interrupted meal and was snuffling for some suitable supplements on the forest floor. There was little grass where they currently were so they kept moving at a slow, meandering pace. The elf had long since worn his voice sore while calling his beloved's name, quite a feat for a descendent of the tribe of elves best known for their singing abilities. 

 

 

Time moved on. 

Galadriel returned to awareness after feeling a faint ripple in the back of her mind. She breathed the warm scent of the earth and noted the subtle difference in the starlight. 

Another breath… she felt the ripple again, larger this time. 

_A warning._

Galadriel rolled onto her knees and elbows, peering over the grass to scan the edge of the clearing for any signs of movement. Whatever it was, it was still a little distance away yet. She silently reprimanded herself for putting herself in such a vulnerable position. She moved into a crouch. Still there was no noise except the swaying of the tree branches and the whispers of insects. With furtive glances, she judged the space between herself and the nearest sheltering trees. However, from that same direction, she could feel the presence of _two_ beings now, as they drew closer. Silently drawing both her daggers, she made her decision and sprang forward. 

 

 

Surely, he had been searching for all of the evening and well into the night. In his anxiety Celeborn had drawn his sword, but his guard remained low, dampened by his worry. Nor did he notice that his horse had paused behind at some bushes laden with berries. So it was that he wandered to the edge of an open glade where he stopped as the air below his chin was sliced and a dagger point halted –just barely- at his chest. 

 

 

She nearly screamed. 

Galadriel gripped the hilt of her dagger so hard, she vaguely wondered whether it or her fingers would crack. As the shock of realization lingered, she stared dumbfounded at an equally bewildered Celeborn at the other end of the blade. _Crimson blood and silver hair. Everywhere._ The image was too much for her and the peace of mind that she had known just moments before evaporated with the returning onslaught of memories. She trembled, recoiling. 

The dagger dropped out of her hand and landed on the ground with a soft thud. 

Celeborn watched her with concern as her expression conveyed a trace of anguish. Without warning, she turned her back to him and stood rigid in silence. For an extremely long moment, he waited for her to regain her composure, relaxing his posture only slightly. He glanced down at the dagger, which reflected a brilliant sheen even in the sparse starlight. When it seemed she was not going to act without further prompting he sheathed his sword and slowly knelt down to pick up her fallen weapon. 

Meanwhile, Galadriel tried to settle her pounding heart and banish the strange visions mixed with memory from her mind. She could feel him acutely; his patience, the care he took to not reach out with his mind and impose upon her own scattered thoughts. The questions he surely had were carefully checked and his mind was as closed to her as hers was to his. How she wished it were not so, but she could not make herself lessen the space between, yet. 

"Don't move," he said softly, his voice drifting up to her. 

She could feel his breath on the inside of her left wrist. She looked down to watch him lift the dagger and place it carefully back into the leather sheathe bound to her leg. That done, he raised his head to look up at her. Her eyes softened. He lifted his hand, palm upward in request, and she realized that she still held the other dagger tightly in her right hand against her chest. This she gave to him and he secured it to her other leg. He then rose to his feet, still behind her, stepping back as if she were an untamed animal that might dash away at any moment. In fact, that was not so far from the truth. 

"Shall I come hither later," he asked hesitantly, "when you are ready to return to Menegroth?" After receiving no immediate answer, he made ready to turn and leave. 

"No!" Galadriel's hand seized his retreating forearm and he froze. Then, she appeared to relax and return to normal, although still remaining distant. She shook her head and repeated softly, "No. I will return with you." She lowered her head a little and opened her mouth as if to say something. 

Celeborn tilted his head to the side, waiting patiently. 

"I am sorry." 

"Then, I am sorry for disturbing you," he responded without pause. He stepped closer, unable to hide the worry in his eyes. "Are you all right?" 

_I'll be fine_. Her mind gently reached out to touch his, relaxing when she felt his calm, warm response. 

Celeborn sought her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. She gave him a wan smile which he returned, but with more mirth. Moving closer still, he lifted a hand to brush aside the loose strands that were falling out of place from her crown of gold hair – and pricked himself on a pin. When he yelped, Galadriel tried unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle. Celeborn, relieved that she was amused, pretended to look overly hurt. 

"If you truly wanted me to leave you alone…" he began in mock anguish, but she only laughed harder, shaking her head and inadvertently loosening her hair further. "My lady wounds me," he lamented, playing along, "Not with looks or words, but with the pins in her hair!" Galadriel was in stitches. A grin split Celeborn's serious expression and he had no choice but to join in her laughter. 

 

* * *

* Thanks to Oboe-Wan (150021), one of the best Tolkien fanfic writers out there, for being my beta reader and constant source of Silmarillion info. 

* Thanks to all readers and reviewers. Feel free to point out anything that seems off. 

* No thanks to Movie-Version Folken for usurping Celeborn's title of Head Muse half-way through the writing of this fic and making me think about writing an Escaflowne fanfic.

* * *

What the elves are _really_ thinking: 

Elf1: Are you thinking what I'm thinking? 

Elf2: I think I am. 

Elf1: Yea, I think so too.

 


	2. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far the Noldor have kept their terrible secret from the Sindar, but can Galadriel manage to hide it from her beloved Celeborn?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Oboe-Wan (userid=150021) for listening to my concerns. 

Author's Notes:  Thanks again to Oboe-Wan (userid=150021) for listening to my concerns. 

'Text in single quotes' mid-way through the chapter, indicate spoken Quenya. 

Assume all dialogue in the _italicized_ section is in Quenya. 

Normal text _in the italicized section_ are individual names or words also in Quenya. 

* * *

 

Elu Thingol, King of Doriath, sat at the large table after he had taken his breakfast, his hands folded at his waist. The morning report being delivered by the chief of domestic affairs was interrupted when Melian, gazing beyond the walls of the dining hall, softly intoned, "They have returned." Thingol held up a hand for the elf beside him to pause, then motioned for one of the elves still seated at the table to come forward. After a brief statement from the King, this messenger briskly left the hall. 

 

* * *

 

Celeborn let his fingers slide idly along the curves of the relief carved on the wooden door leading to Galadriel's rooms. Although he did not really mind waiting in the hallway, he wondered whether she would be ready before the food became cold. He glanced back at the two younger elves behind him, bearing silver serving platters. His contemplation was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps coming towards him. 

"Good morning, brother." 

Looking up in surprise, Celeborn smiled. "Morning, Galathil." 

Galathil raised a silver eyebrow at his younger sibling. "I thought I would find you here. We missed you at the evening meal yesterday and breakfast this morning." He glanced at the food platters before continuing, "But it seems that you have had other plans." He was glad to see that Celeborn had the decency to look a little embarrassed. 

"Actually, the Lady Galadriel and I had planned a private dinner together last night," Celeborn confessed, "But she was not able to keep the appointment, so I thought we would break our fast together instead." 

Galathil nodded and lowered his voice so that only Celeborn could hear. "Would this have anything to do with you going off into Region fully armed yestereve?" 

Celeborn's expression changed immediately into a blank look. _Who told you?_

His brother shook his head. _I was told by one of the watch-guards coming off his shift when I was sent to fetch you to come to dinner._

"And who bid you to fetch me?" Celeborn asked, feeling his throat constrict. 

"The King." 

"The Queen, you mean." 

"I know not what you speak of." Galathil could not read the expression on Celeborn's face. "Regardless, this morning I am to summon Lady Galadriel to an audience with the King." 

Celeborn shook his head. He wondered briefly if Galadriel was in fit mental condition to endure another interrogation by both the King and Queen, for it was surely Melian behind the summons. His answer to his own question was yes; she probably was, strong and proud as ever. Nonetheless, that did not mean he was going to let the King and Queen have their way, yet. 

"I am afraid that will not be possible yet," he said. "Lady Galadriel has overtaxed herself during her run yesterday. And since she only returned recently, she needs some time to rest… and eat!" Celeborn waved his hand towards the waiting meal. 

Galathil eyed him suspiciously. "If I did not know you better, Celeborn, I would say that you are trying to hide something." Celeborn merely blinked, and Galathil smiled. Then he was serious again, speaking with his mind once more, _Or perhaps, it is your lady that has something to hide._

Celeborn lowered his head sadly, turning away. _I am afraid that is only too true._

"Ah. Well that is none of my business, then." Galathil clasped his hands behind his back and looked away down the hall. Then, looking at his brother from the corner of his eyes he saw that Celeborn beamed gratefully at him. 

The door opened with a soft click. Galathil turned to attention while Celeborn jumped back. A blonde elf-maiden pushed the door open wider and bowed to the two of them. 

"Lord Celeborn, the lady will see you now," she said, smiling timidly. 

"Thank you," he replied and motioned for the servers to enter and leave the trays. When they had left, he turned to Galathil, who still stood silently by. 

"Was there something else you wished to say to me, brother?" 

Looking pensive for a moment and then shaking his head, Galathil turned to the maiden and offered her his arm. "I suppose we should leave the two of them alone." 

The girl smiled amiably and accepted. "Of course, Lord Galathil." 

With barely a backward glance, the two strode away through the stone halls. 

 

* * *

 

Galadriel sighed contentedly, almost, as Celeborn expertly brushed her damp hair with a jeweled comb. She sipped the rest of the mead and placed her empty cup beside the used dishes. Closing her eyes, she let herself enjoy the gentle tugs on her hair and the tender scratching of the comb's teeth against her scalp. 

"You have been very quiet today," Celeborn mused, _and last night, too_. 

He felt her back stiffen under his hand. She did not reply at first and he wondered whether or not to push any further. She was so unlike her usual self and it was troubling to him. 

"It is nothing," Galadriel murmured feebly, not managing to convince herself nor him. She silently hoped he would not pursue the current line of thought. 

Celeborn placed the comb on the table and shifted his position on the divan on which they sat. When he did not manage to turn her around to face him, he moved around to the other side and sat down again. Placing his hands on her upper arms so she could not turn away from his searching gaze, he stated earnestly, "Now I know it cannot be nothing." 

"Please, Celeborn." Her tone was flat, rejecting him. 

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "Is it Queen Melian?" 

"No." 

"Did you have a row with her?" 

"No." There was more annoyance this time. 

_Why can you not tell me??_ Celeborn released her and sat back. It seemed he was more concerned and frustrated than either of them knew. "My apologies," he sighed at length. 

Galadriel partly wanted to reprimand him, but another, more insistent, part of her wanted to apologize to him. She wanted to apologize to him, apologize to Melian, apologize to everyone, about everything, though little would it accomplish. Still, she remained mute. 

There was an awkward pause. 

' _Altáriel, meldanya_ ,' he began, switching to Quenya. 'Even if you do not, I think you should tell me.' 

She merely blinked at him, unsure at which she was more surprised: his speaking her native language or his daring to continue questioning her, whereas Melian had stopped. She decided his speech was more disarming, a memory -of him nearly begging her to teach it to him when they had first met- surfacing briefly. He spoke it with only the slightest accent now, and she had no doubt it would soon disappear altogether. 

'Your heart tells me you want to speak freely,' Celeborn was saying, 'but you are afraid.' 

Galadriel's eyes widened in surprise as she considered the idea. _Afraid?_ Her low, melodious voice darkened to a whisper, 'How do you know my heart so well?' 

He smiled tenderly and the tone of his voice became equally gentle, 'Because, unless I am horribly mistaken, you gave it to me.' He raised a hand to her cheek and this time she reacted, leaning into his caress. 'But I need your assistance if I am to take proper care of it.' 

She briefly wondered how she could refuse to tell him, but recognized that she could not, not anymore. _Curse your silver tongue_ , she thought without really meaning it. She held his hand against her cheek, but could not meet his eyes. 'How can I tell you something that would break your heart to hear it, and mine to tell it?' 

'Then let me share your pain to ease it.' 

She looked up at Celeborn with such woe in her eyes that he immediately moved closer, encircling his arms around her. How he wished he could take away that which haunted her. At the same time, Galadriel, seeing his selfless sincerity, further mourned for his innocence. Placing her head on his shoulder, she resisted the inevitable need to hurt him with her revelation. She also hesitated for fear of his reaction to the pain she would inflict. She feared this moment like no other fear, no other moment she had ever experienced before. 

'I could not.' 

Celeborn swallowed, closing his eyes. 'Would you… keep this hideous secret even from me… always?' 

Galadriel was thankful she could not see his initial expression. She embraced him tightly before sitting back and placing the heel of her right hand against his temple, fingers sliding in among his silver strands of hair. 'I would not wish for _any_ one to see what I have seen,' she uttered quietly, starting to lose herself in his eyes. 'Yet, I would have nothing between us.' 

Celeborn relaxed, placing the tips of his fingers at the base of her head, splayed along her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek. 

_I do not fear what is to come._

Neither knew whose thought had drifted as their minds began to overlap. Galadriel exhaled once before they were both enveloped in a shadow of memory and doubt. 

 

* * *

 

_"_ Atar _!" Ereinion came running back with his troop of scouts to Fingon's vanguard host as if being chased by an invisible evil._

_"What is wrong?" Fingon asked, turning from his present conversation with Galadriel, who had left her father's host to join his in her eagerness to be gone from Aman._

_"There is battle at Alqualondë!"_

_"How can that be?" asked Galadriel, alarmed._

_Ereinion shook his head in answer. "It is terrible! They are all being… slain." His voice had dropped as he had said the last word. The concept was as alien to the young elf as it was to his father and those around them._

_"The House of_ Fëanáro _needs our aid_ _!" Fingon declared before immediately shouting out orders to his elves._

_"There must be some horrible, horrible mistake…"Galadriel said to him, placing a hand on his arm, making him pause momentarily._

_He blinked at her. "We shall see."_

_But Fingon was too eager to come to the rescue of his older cousins and before Galadriel could get another statement in edgewise, the vanguard host was already moving forward._

* * *

_The bejeweled city of Alqualondë, normally shining blue-silver as the walls reflected the clear sky and ocean waves, glowed copper as the flames raged among the outlying buildings. The shipyards, in the distance, were swarming with Elves: those that were defending the docks and those that were to conquer them, mercilessly. On the battlefield, where once the Telerin elves carved their wood and the children played, there was crimson blood and silver hair. Everywhere._

_By the time Fingon's host had arrived, the Kinslaying was already well underway. Galadriel could not believe what she was seeing._ Fëanáro … _What little tolerance she had had for her half-uncle evaporated like the sea spray nearest to the flames. Rage and grief burned within her._ What has he done?? Even the Valar could not forgive us for this… should not.

* * *

_That day, rivulets of luminous red blood snaked randomly across the flat rock, down to the shore where the sand turned black and the white foam tried in vain to wash it all away._

* * *

_The blade flashed twice: up, and then down again, except… Except the downward stroke met resistance, not enough to halt the blade, but enough to requisite more force. As the elf crumpled over from the blow, Galadriel lost hold of the hilt and jumped back from her fallen foe. Around her the sounds of battle raged on, but she was suddenly oblivious to everything else. Falling to her knees, she turned the elf –once her friend- over._

_She pulled her weapon out, disregarding the cut she gave herself, and felt the blood and the heat seeping from beneath her palm no matter how hard she pressed. She looked down at her Telerin cousin, dying even as she held him, trying to staunch the fatal wound in his chest. His face was drawn in pain, his sweat matting his bright silver hair. His ragged, irregular breathing echoed in her ears and his limbs twitched as his dying body convulsed once, twice._

_"Will no one help me!?" she screamed frantically, but the battle was already moving away and anyone that could have heard her did not bother to react._

_"_ Alatáriel _?"_

_Galadriel looked back down at him and nearly recoiled from the look of pure hatred that she was receiving. She saw the memory of endless summers they had spent in Alqualondë as children together disintegrate under his frigid glare. And even though she caught his arm as he raised a dagger against her with his last bit of strength, she felt sorrow pierce her heart before numbing it._

May you find peace in the Halls of Mandos. And forgive me… if you can. 

_She watched the light vanish from his eyes through her own blurring vision, the most horrifying sight she had ever seen. Then, quickly disengaging herself from the corpse, she pried the dagger from his dead hand and also took its partner from his waist. These she strapped one to each leg and wiped her sword clean before moving on._

* * *

_"Why not run away, back with your_ ata _to the Valar, little bright one?" Celegorm the Fair sneered at his youngest cousin._

_"Shut up, Turcafinwë_ _," growled Orodreth, normally the mildest of Finarfin's sons, as he stepped in front of Galadriel, as if to shield her from their jeering cousin. Her brother had barely managed to keep his voice steady, and she suspected that it wavered because of his grief rather than anger._

_Celegorm ignored Orodreth and looked sharply at Galadriel with an equally sharp smile. "Yea, I saw you crying over your pathetic Telerin prince. That must have been some impressive blade work."_

_"Be silent,_ Turco _."_

_Celegorm and Galadriel ceased glaring at each other as Fëanor came up to join the company, looking as if he was still greater than the sum of his seven sons. He cast his bright eyes over the gathering of the House of Finwë where stood Fingolfin and his sons and daughter, and Finarfin with his children. The wayward King of the Noldor turned to his half-brother. "Please excuse him,_ Arafinwë _. Your decision to return is your own." Although he spoke congenial words, Fëanor, like his son, did not bother to hide the contempt in his voice._

_Finarfin remained unperturbed, but did not bother to make any sign of acknowledgement._

_Fëanor then turned to Galadriel with a subtle smile. "And what have you decided,_ Altáriel _? It seems your brothers have all decided to journey onward."_

_Galadriel ignored him and the flicker in his eyes that she thought appeared whenever he said her name. Instead she turned to her father. "I will go into exile," she said softly, only briefly meeting his gaze. "Farewell, Father."_

_Finarfin lifted a hand to smooth her hair back and she looked up at him again. His eyes -containing so much sorrow, understanding, and love all at once- amazed her. "Farewell, daughter," he replied quietly. "May you find happiness beyond the Sea, if any happiness there can now be."_

_After embracing for a moment that ended all too quickly, Galadriel turned around. She stepped past Fëanor, ignoring his proffered hand, to join her brothers._

__  


* * *

Your Elvish Lesson for the Day:   
Using elvish is a device I learned from reading fics by Nemis (userid=179839) and Shinelrond (userid=190036) Yes! Free advertising for good Tolkien fic writers! (Please let me know if you don't want to be associated with me ^_^')

_Altáriel_ = Galadriel's name in Quenya ( _Alatáriel_ is the Telerin form)  
_meldanya_ = 'my beloved' or perhaps 'beloved of me' (but I could be _totally_ wrong about this...)   
_atar_ = father ( _ata_ = in Celegorm's jeer, meant to mean 'daddy')   
_Turcafinwë_ = 'strong Finwë' = Celegorm ( _Turco_ = shortened version)   
_Ara_ _finwë_ = Finarfin   
_Fëanáro_ = Fëanor (d'uh)

source: http://www.uib.no/People/hnohf/ 

Notes: Galathil is listed in the appendix(?) of names in Tolkien's _Unfinished Tales._

 

* * *

Finwë: *holding baby Fëanor* Behold my mad skillz! I shall name him _Curufinwë_.  
Míriel: *gives him most withering glare* Oh _really_?  
Finwë: What? 

[This twisted Silmarillion moment has been brought to you by the neurotic that wrote this fic, me]


	3. Despite the Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So far the Noldor have kept their terrible secret from the Sindar, but can Galadriel manage to hide it from her beloved Celeborn?

Author's Notes:    
I apologize for the wait on this third and final chapter. As compensation, this chapter is longer than I had originally planned it to be.   
( Blame it on Galadriel who ran off with Celeborn; when they came back Galadriel refused to be a good muse and Celeborn was too afraid to do anything without her; then I was so caught up with real life; it also didn't help things when I had found 3 versions of the same scene that I'd written and forgot about. ^_^)  


Assume all dialogue in the flashback _italicized_ section (first chunk) is in Quenya.   
Words in normal text in the flashback _italicized section_ are individual names/ words also in Quenya. 

_All italics in the present setting represent thoughts._

* * *

_"You_ must _rise,_ Turucáno _!" Finrod pleaded, staring helplessly down at his cousin huddled in the snow._

_But Turgon remained oblivious and only stared out at the stark, empty expanse of the Helcaraxë that had claimed his wife. "Elenwë…," he hiccupped, his tears freezing in their tracks even as they inched down his face._

_Seeing his pain almost made Galadriel stop and join Turgon in his mourning, but both she and Finrod knew it was unwise to linger much longer. She also knew that just as Elenwë was not the first to perish in the crossing, she would not be the last. The blizzards and fathomless mists had relented but a little. For now, their greater concern was the shifting ice and snow. They had to make progress before the weather -or Fingolfin- halted them again, and the march would be long. Galadriel followed Turgon's line of sight into the hazy distance of endless glaciers. She then looked down at Idril who wept quietly against her shoulder._

_"Enough of this," commanded Galadriel gently, directing her words to Turgon rather than to his daughter. "This is no place to grieve over long."_

_"She is right," Finrod added grimly. "For the sake of others, put aside your grief. You must continue to lead your people..."_

_Turgon's expression twisted in despair._ To what Doom!?

_"… and look after_ Itaril _."_

_Turgon winced visibly. He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath before he reached up to grasp Finrod's extended hand. Finrod hauled him up and hugged him in encouragement, saying:_

_"Strength such as yours will carry many of us through,_ káno _."_

_Turgon nodded mutely but his eyes remained downcast and his shoulders stooped. At length, he turned his sad eyes upon Galadriel and his daughter._

_"_ Itaril _."_

_Immediately, Idril left Galadriel's comforting embrace for her father's. Both wept again, but this time they would recover more quickly. Finrod caught his sister's attention and they moved off to rejoin the moving host._

* * *

_The harrowing journey across the Helcaraxë was far from simple though the environment was barren and unchanging. Too often, the Noldor had to retrace their steps or journey far to find suitable areas to cross between glaciers. The snow and fog made it difficult for even the keenest elven eyes to pierce. Always the cold and desolation groped for them, trying to weaken mind and body._

_However, the worst was when the harsh winds came and howled with the voices of those that were lost._

* * *

 

" _Daro…_ " 

Galadriel withdrew from the memory, conscious once more of being in her physical body, seeing through her eyes. She shuddered a little from the aftershock, not noticing that Celeborn had reverted to speaking Sindarin in his distress. In fact, he was so disturbed that she found him clinging to her, his cheek against her own. 

_Whose tears are these?_ She wrapped her arms around him in an attempt to comfort, although there was little that she could offer to appease such a betrayal. 

_Celeborn…_ Her thought reached out tentatively but was deflected by the barrier that her beloved had retreated behind. Though she had expected as much, Galadriel felt her jaw clench, her throat constrict and her chest tighten in pain. She felt his body tremble against hers in an uncontrolled sob. But as she hugged him closer, he suddenly pulled away, completely, the back of his arm and his hair concealing his face from her. 

 

Reeling with the odd sensation of sharing her memories, Celeborn felt as if his heart and mind would collapse, being laden with too much raw emotion. He turned away, partly to sever the connection he could no longer bear, but more so to hide his tears from her, though they were justified. The silence of the room was punctuated only by his stifled sniffling as he tried to regain control of his breathing. 

He understood now; everything about her demeanour and history was laid bare with frightening precision for him to absorb and _know_. Only a few minutes had passed, but it felt as if he had relived an age, and, in a way, he had. Gradually, the anger and fear subsided, but the hurt remained. 

 

Mistaking his confusion and embarrassment as a sign of rejection, Galadriel let her hands drop down to her sides, her close physical proximity to him now an infinite divide. It seemed to her that she was now terribly and utterly alone; and her mind cried out in wordless sorrow to the emptiness where he was before. 

As if in reply, she heard Finarfin's voice once more, a sad echo of memory:

_"May you find happiness beyond the Sea, if any happiness there can now be."_

All the grievous events suffered by the Noldor passed through her mind. But it seemed to her, suddenly, that they would be as a precursor to even more sorrow to come. 

"I wish," she said quietly, "that you would never have to see the like for yourself." But her tone was dead, hollow, crushed under the full weight of the Doom of Mandos. "But I fear that no elf in Doriath will be untouched by this horror." She turned away sadly. "If I had known this doom of ours could spread to all the peoples of Beleriand, of Middle-Earth, I should not have come to see it." 

Celeborn finally looked up and stared thoughtfully for a moment at her upturned profile. A part of him had to agree that nothing, himself not least, would ever be the same again. Even so, a single word escaped him. 

_Kinslayer…?_

He had not meant to direct the word at her, for he was merely considering the idea; but Galadriel winced visibly, drawing further away from him. Seeing this, and despite the fact that she had done the unthinkable, Celeborn realized he did not like the possibility of never having met her. More importantly, he hated the fact that he was driving her away, when all he really wanted to do was comfort her ( _If only she would cry…_ ) and be comforted in return. He gently took her hand, and Galadriel successfully refrained from being too startled. 

Their eyes did not meet, both unsure of how the other felt. 

After a lengthy pause, Celeborn finally asked: "What would you have me do, knowing what I do now?" 

"Do what you will," came her dull reply, but to herself, Galadriel thought, _I would have you love me as you did before._

"And what if I told my King and Queen?" 

She tensed and her hand seemed ready to pull away. "You would reward my betrayal with another betrayal? How appropriate." She looked up at him then, her eyes hard though her face was already tear-streaked. However, she only saw a mixture of pain and sympathy in his pale eyes. 

"Proudest and most fair lady of the Noldor," said he, "the choice was your own to share this sorrowful history with me. When you did, it was no longer solely your secret to keep." His hand closed more firmly about her own as he paused, searching her eyes for something, searching for something within himself. 

The Noldor princess frowned slightly, confused by the different messages that his words and his eyes were telling her. As she watched him, Celeborn came to his conclusion: 

"But I will not tell anyone against your will." 

Only then was she no longer afraid. There was so much more behind his words that she silently thanked Ilúvatar for. Galadriel bowed her head in acquiescence as her wonderful Celeborn lifted her hand to kiss it, leaving a pleasant tingling sensation where his lips touched her skin. 

* * *

There was a soft knock on the wooden door, and though the wood was so thick that the sound barely came through, they were startled nonetheless. Reluctantly breaking each other's gaze, Galadriel sighed and Celeborn cleared his throat. 

"Allow me," he said getting to his feet. She looked up at him again as their fingers slid apart when he released her hand, his arm outstretched as he moved away. Celeborn's preoccupation with the feeling of her eyes on him vanished when he opened the door and blinked at the person waiting on the other side. 

 

Melian smiled warmly up at the young elf lord, who looked positively shocked to see her. 

"Good morning to you, Celeborn," she greeted in her gentle voice. 

Celeborn recovered himself and bowed low. "Good morning to Your Highness." 

The light of humour danced in the queen's eyes as he straightened, still looking bemused. "May I enter?" 

He hurriedly glanced over his shoulder at Galadriel even as he spoke, "Of course." He stepped back, adding, "How may we attend you, my Queen?" 

Melian stepped in the room and looked at Galadriel who was now standing, eyes clear, her expression guarded, hands clasped – a little too tightly – in front of herself. The queen turned slightly towards Celeborn; his expression, too, was blank, but she could discern his apprehension whereas Galadriel hid hers better. 

"If Galadriel will permit it," her eyes left him briefly, then returned, "I should like to speak with her alone. We shall not be long." 

"As Her Highness wishes. Excuse me." He bowed his head and quickly cleared the unsightly dishes from the table. Both ladies watched in amusement as he balanced the silverware and turned to leave. 

"Thank you very much, Celeborn." The queen nodded her head in acknowledgement. "When you are ready, King Thingol would speak with you as well." 

Celeborn tried not to look overly surprised. "Understood. By your leave, Ladies," he said, backing carefully out of the room and managing to close the door behind himself. 

 

* * *

 

When Celeborn had finished with his errand to the kitchens, he slowly made his way to the king's receiving hall. He was quite lost in thought over the summons, Melian's impromptu visit, and Galadriel's memories not least. It was no wonder that Luthien came upon him unawares. 

"Why Celeborn!" the princess exclaimed, slipping her arm under his as she came up alongside him, "On a beautiful morning such as this, you look like the Shadow of the North lies too heavy upon you!" 

Trying not to be too overwhelmed by her sudden enthusiasm, Celeborn forced a smile. "I beg your pardon, Princess. You should not jest so lightly about such things." 

Luthien pouted before sighing and enquiring seriously, "I know, cousin, but you do look a bit, well, depressed. Are you not well?" 

Celeborn did not look at her directly as they continued walking, though the king's daughter had fixed her curious gaze on him. "Oh, I am fine," he managed with an air of nonchalance. 

"That is well, then," she replied, although she did not believe him for a moment. Instead, she asked, "Where is Galadriel?" It was not often that she saw one of them without the other, much less one of them alone and unhappy. 

He sighed, and subsequently hoped that Luthien could not read anything from it. "Your mother is with her now. I was told to go and see your father. Odd, is it not – for him to call upon me at this time of the day?" 

"A little," she consented, and added a little mischievously, "But if my mother is with Galadriel now, and she told you to see the King, perhaps Father has finally decided to speak of marriage plans concerning the two of you." 

Celeborn nearly tripped in surprise. "Marriage plans?" 

Gripping his arm more firmly, Luthien threw him a vexed look. "Do not tell me you have never considered the idea!" She continued to glare until he blushed visibly, then she grinned. 

"It is much too soon; everyone knows that." 

Luthien groaned, "She has been here enough years to void the argument of any critic. I fail to understand why you should wait." 

"Even so…," he trailed off in thought as the princess rambled on. 

"You loved each other nearly upon first sight," she began, "You cannot tell me that it was not so; I was there! Almost like Mother and Father and they married immediately – if you neglect the several years that they stood enthralled with each other. You and Galadriel make such a wonderful pair Ilúvatar Himself must have woven your fates together so you cannot make an excuse against that can you Celeborn? …Celeborn??" 

"Pardon?" 

Luthien would have started an angry tirade at him, had she not been trying to recover her breath from her previous speech. He laughed then, the way he thought he would not be able to in the wake of Galadriel's revelations. 

"You must indeed speak the truth, Highness, as it seems you know so much about such love." 

"Do not mock me, Celeborn. I only hope to be as fortunate as you," she said with a far-off, dreamy look in her eyes as she leaned into his arm a little. 

Celeborn smiled down at the top of her head. "I am sure you will be." 

 

* * *

 

After reaching the Hall and waiting for the previous audience to leave, Luthien entered with Celeborn and went straight to her father. Thingol smiled broadly at the sight of his daughter and exchanged a few words with her. When they finished, Luthien added: 

"Before I forget, Daeron has announced that he has composed a new ballad and will be performing it for me after the evening meal. Will you and the court not come and listen, Father?" 

Thingol's expression was quizzical. "Doth he not wish to play it for you alone, as is his wont?" 

His daughter smiled angelically. "But it is not my wont to listen alone for him." 

The king sighed, "Then it shant be so." 

Luthien kissed her father, thanking him, and turned to leave. As she passed Celeborn she spoke, "You and Galadriel will come, too, of course?" 

"Of course," he replied knowingly. 

She beamed gratefully at him and glided out of the hall. 

Thingol turned his attention to Celeborn. "How fare ye, son of Ghaladon?" 

Celeborn bowed. "Well, if Your Majesty fares so." 

"And so we do," the king replied, but his eyes regarded the younger elf thoughtfully behind his smile. "The audience is finished for this morning," he said, motioning for Celeborn to follow him into the smaller adjacent sitting room, where they could speak less formally. 

As he entered, Celeborn was surprised to find the queen rising from her chair to greet them, apparently expecting their arrival. He quickly considered the time that had passed on his journey to the kitchens and back, wondering how Melian's visit with Galadriel could be so brief. Then, as Thingol took his seat and motioned for him to be seated, Celeborn swallowed. _So it is to be me who is interrogated and not Galadriel._

Thingol's expression was as chiseled marble, "Is there anything you would like to tell us?" 

Celeborn was slightly taken aback by the directness of the question. "Not that I know of. What is the meaning of these summons, milord?" 

"You know perfectly well what it is," Thingol replied evenly, "Galadriel has not been at her ease in Menegroth since Melian spoke with her yesterday. We believe her behaviour and her unwillingness to explain are related and we are very concerned about her well being." 

Celeborn thought the king's tone lacked sincerity. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "If there is something you wish to know, I believe you should direct your inquiry to the lady herself." He risked a glance at Melian. 

The queen was silent, but her eyes never left him. 

"Yet you would hide _your_ knowledge from our sovereignty," the king countered shrewdly. "I have reason to believe that what the Lady Galadriel knows may be a threat to Doriath and our people. As such, I cannot allow this incident to go unnoticed. What have you to say?" 

Thingol waited expectantly for a response, but the young elf remained mute and his eyes, at first meeting the king's with a steady gaze, were downcast. 

"Nothing." 

Finally losing his patience and expressing more emotion, Thingol, in his most haughty manner, raised his eyebrows and spoke as if in accusation: "Her influence on you has made you impertinent! Has your love for Olwë's granddaughter supplanted your loyalty to Doriath?" 

"That is enough, Elu." Melian's calm voice punctuated the end of Thingol's outburst, and she placed a hand on his arm. Thingol appeared not to notice, keeping his eyes on his grandnephew. 

Unsure of how, Celeborn managed to swallow the bitter insult and replied coldly, "Question not my loyalty nor my honor. My life and duty I owe to Doriath but it would negate any loyalty or honor I had to tell you what you wish to hear. I am no spy and neither is Galadriel." 

Thingol nodded. "Well spoken," said he, mildly unsure whether to be pleased or disappointed with his nephew. 

In the following silence, Melian regarded Celeborn with her profound, searching gaze. It was all he could do to keep his expression neutral. At last she released him from her probe, but her eyes remained fixed to his. 

"Your silence does your love much credit, Celeborn," the queen said, and she smiled gently, sincerely, in approval. Thingol snorted, but remained silent. 

Celeborn found himself smiling in return at the maia. He bowed his head slightly, accepting the compliment. Somehow he was reminded of a distant memory of his mother gushing, _My my, look how tall you have grown to be!_

 

* * *

 

He found her in the royal gardens atop the Thousand Caves, exactly where Melian had said she would be. It was early afternoon and the warm breeze drifted up with the scent of the flora to the highest tier where Galadriel, leaning on a railing, surveyed the gardens below her. 

Celeborn stopped several paces before reaching her and waited. At first she did not seem to notice, but then she turned her head slightly, enough to align her right ear to his position, not bothering to look at him out of the corner of her eye. When he situated himself beside her, she faced forward again. He did likewise, and spoke as if addressing the air above the garden. 

"Luthien is planning to foil another of Daeron's recitals to her this evening. She even convinced the King to attend with the court." 

This managed to elicit a smirk from Galadriel. 

Turning to face her fully, Celeborn continued, "Would you give me the honor of accompanying me to partake of the audience?" 

She cocked her head at him, meeting his bright, hopeful, eyes. She did not sense any anxiety in him at all. 

_Celeborn?_

_Yes?_ His reply was automatic. 

Her tone was a bit short of demanding. "Why are you being so formal with me?" 

He blinked. "I thought I was merely being polite." 

Sometimes, definitely now, she deemed his mannerism infuriating beyond endurance. Galadriel had come to realize it was a behavioural mechanism he deployed whenever he was uncomfortable confronting her. He had been acting thus far too often in the past day alone. She could not blame him, but she still did not know what he hoped to gain by being exceedingly polite at the moment. It seemed she would have to start the conversation. 

Without any warning, Galadriel pulled him – a little roughly – into a kiss. Celeborn submitted to her quickly enough, his wonderment and love flaring into her mind momentarily before settling into a calm pulse. Though she reveled in the feeling with more than a little relief, Galadriel broke off to look at him gravely. 

_How can you forgive me so easily?_

  
            Equally serious, Celeborn frowned slightly in consideration. _Have I?_ He lifted a hand and massaged his temple with his fingers. _I do not know. I only see that you carry the grief your knowledge entails… I have watched you bear it, everyday, since we first met, though I had no thought to what it could be. And you will continue to do so, even unto the end of days._ He moved his hand from his temple to hers. _Perhaps that is enough._ His hand dropped and he shrugged. _You do not need my resentment to compound your pain._

            Galadriel tried not to bite her lip; if it were possible, her expression appeared to sadden even further. She leaned into him and turned her face away, confessing after a moment, _I admit that… on occasion, I manage to make myself believe that it was all a necessary sacrifice that I chose to make in order to secure my freedom._

_But?_ he prompted gently. 

_But… I was forced to make that decision… and yet it was my own to make and I was willing to accept whatever followed thereafter._ Galadriel looked back at him and Celeborn saw such strength in her eyes as could only have served one who had to make such a decisive journey. 

_So you came into exile._

_I…_ She looked to the Southwest, perhaps in the direction where Nargothrond lay. _It was my pride that drove the House of Finarfin over the sundering Sea, but I exiled myself. There is no pride in that._

            Celeborn nodded. _You see? There was no need to ask._

The light in Galadriel's eyes softened. 

_You know exactly why I still love you, so - for your own sake - do not forget it._ So thinking, he leaned forward and kissed her. 

* * *

            After a serene silence with only the sound of rustling forest leaves, Galadriel lifted her eyes back up to Celeborn's from where she was braiding a strand of his hair with her right hand. 

_What did they say?_ she asked. 

_They know more than we thought, and Thingol was getting all blustery when I would tell him nothing_ , he replied with a somewhat acerbic smile. 

_I am sorry_ ( _You have no reason to be_ ) _for that. I hope you are not in his bad graces simply because you sought to protect me._

            He grinned, but without adding any tint to it. _Do not worry. He declared that we would speak of this issue no more. Besides, he cannot for long stay mad at his favourite nephew – not that there is anything wrong with Galathil._

            Galadriel smiled in response. _So you would believe._

            Celeborn raised an eyebrow. _There_ is _something wrong with my brother?_

            The lady laughed and shook her head. _No._ She yanked his hair hard enough to reduce his grin a little. _You would believe that you are Thingol's favourite_ _nephew_ _?_

_Absolutely._

            Galadriel rolled her eyes and decided to cease pursuing that tangent. _Melian apologized to me, you know._

_That was a short apology._

_It is all right, she understands._ She relaxed into his arms again. 

            Sensing the end of the conversation, Celeborn suddenly remembered Luthien. "You have yet to answer my original question," he said aloud. 

            "Which question?" 

            "My lady, 'would you give me the honor of accompanying me to partake of the audience' at Daeron's recital tonight?" 

            Perhaps his manners were not so annoying as previously thought. Galadriel took his hand. 

            "I will happily oblige, my lord." 

 

_  
_

[Fini]

* * *

Your Elvish Lesson for the Day: 

  
_Turucáno_ = Turgon( _tur_ \- = 'master[ful]; - _k_ _áno =_ 'commander')  
_Itaril_ (or _Itarillë, Itarildë_ wasn't sure which I should pick) = Idril 

_Daro_ = halt/stop (Sindarin) may be the wrong usage   


Author's Post-Production Notes: 

* Thank ye for reading (and reviewing too).

* Sorry if Luthien was a bit off, but she begged to be put in. And although I know she's one generation above Celeborn (and thus quite likely older than he is) I liked the way she turned out. Needed a little levity in there somewhere.

* Thingol is such a jackass, I love him ^_^;

* What next? Nothing really. I'm not very good at coming up with fanfic material and following it through (which is the hard part). I do have snippets of C&G stuff during/post LotR, but that probably will never see the light of cyberspace. Then again, there's still two more movies to go and I may be motivated enough to write again... next year. Until then, I leave the rest up to Oboe-Wan.   
Thanks again for reading this fic. 

* * *

LotR VI.vi.959(?)   
" _Then Treebeard said farewell... and he bowed three times slowly and with great reverence to Celeborn and Galadriel._ "

Galadriel (to Celeborn): Let's try and make him touch his toes. You pull his left arm, I'll pull the right.

Celeborn: All righty. 

[This twisted Celeborn & Galadriel moment brought to you by Nickel's muses.]


End file.
